


Hop in!

by my_thestral



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Long-Term Crush, M/M, Pre-Slash, driven Draco, oblivious! Ron
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-19
Updated: 2017-09-19
Packaged: 2018-12-31 18:47:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12138804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/my_thestral/pseuds/my_thestral
Summary: Ron should have driven the blond git over when he had a chance. But now it’s too late – the blond git is about to drive his life off the cliff...





	Hop in!

**Author's Note:**

> Posted as part of the [Weasleyjumpers Mini Fest 2017!](https://weasleyjumpers.livejournal.com/) held down there at LiveJournal. I had a good time writing this – I actually got the idea during watching the Cursed Child play – and my mind immediately went to one other, particularly Muggle-clueless character in the story, making me giggle. Sorry it isn't beta-ed, I'm sure it would have been better if it was.

“You need to teach me how to drive this thing.”  
  
“Bloody hell!! What the actual fuck…  _Malfoy_?! Get the hell off my driveway, you silly prat, I nearly ran you over! Merlin’s lame thestral, what fool goes standing behind a moving vehicle?!”  
  
Apparently, Draco Malfoy was one such fool. He was standing in Ron’s driveway, smug expression and all, and the redhead could only stare in disbelief, quietly cursing under his breath while clutching his leg, cramped from having to slam the break all the way down to China not to run the barmy snot over. But the  _barmy snot_  in question seemed entirely unaware of the lethal danger he’d just escaped.  
  
“It  _wasn’t_  moving when I got there, Weasley,” the blond pointed out with a tiny condescending smile in the corner of his haughty mouth. “In fact, it wasn’t even here – it was  _in there_. You built a house for this thing? How very…  _fascinating_. Do you cover it at night? Feed it? Why can’t it stay under the same roof with you?”  
  
At that point it dawned on Ron that someone must have gotten to the bleached git at last and hexed all his marbles away.  
  
“Malfoy…” the redhead started carefully, trying to keep his temper in check since he was obviously dealing with an invalid. “I don’t know who or what thumped you on the head, but you can’t just show up in my driveway out of the blue – behind my very much  _moving car_ , you incredible twit! – and ask me a number of utterly…  _mad_  questions and demand of me… what did you want from me again?!”  
  
“I’d like you to teach me how to drive this…  _thing_ … the carriage… the Muggle thing you’re sitting in.”  
  
“It’s called  _a car_ , Malfoy. Well, technically it’s an automobile but… oh, never mind, it’s not like you give a damn. And this…  _shed_  is called a garage. I could, in theory, have one as part of the house, but my first lessons were, uh… uhm… sort of rough, and Hermione didn’t want me to bring the entire house down on us should I be… er, less than successful with parking. And no, I don’t feed it, you idiot. It’s not  _really_  alive, you see. I mean, obviously it roars a bit like a dragon – it’s a fairly old model – and you do have to put petrol in it – a liquid of sorts – but it’s not like you have to stick human sacrifice under the bonnet – if that’s what you were after by standing behind it  _while it moved_!”  
  
“Oh, shut it, Weasley,” the Slytherin menace suggested with a pleasant smile. “Now you’ve scared it. Look, it stopped moving. Is it dead?”  
  
“It isn’t…” the redhead started heatedly, but upon spotting the raised eyebrow and the small, provoking smile on that ridiculously aristocratic mouth, he realised he was playing straight into the slimy prat’s manipulative hands. Even after all these years the skinny fart still very much pushed his buttons. The very worst ones. He took a moment to pull himself together, trying to remind himself that Draco Malfoy knew about as much of the Muggle technology as Ron did of knitting jumpers but he couldn’t shake the thought that the blond nightmare must have had  _some_  reason to show up here, in his driveway, while clearly having no intention to leave on this side of never.  
  
_‘Merlin’s oversized testicles,’_  Ron groaned to himself mentally, feeling like smacking his head against the dashboard repeatedly.  _‘You’re going to have to come to the bottom of this, Ronnie, my lad,’_  he thought to himself gloomily. He could totally do this, of course. Surely, his years of experience at the Auror corps hadn’t been for nothing. While forced to listen to criminals lie through their teeth for hours at the time, he’d always have them confess in the end. He could  _definitely_  drag the truth out of the rusty ex-criminal such as Malfoy. The snake appeared to be suspiciously benevolent these days but Ron was not fooled. The shady bastard had a hidden agenda! Oh, sweet Mary and her little lamb, he  _so_  didn’t need this right now… But there was nothing for it – something wicked his way came, and he was going to have to deal with it… carefully.  
  
“The car isn’t dead,” he said somewhat more calmly, ready to take on Malfoy at his game. “It was never alive to begin with. It’s like the Hogwarts Express, but smaller, though a little cleaner, hopefully. It doesn’t have its own magic like the broom does. You have to do it all yourself. Oh, bloody hell, might as well do this since you’re already here. I can’t believe I’m about to say that… but hop in, Malfoy. You’re going to give me a ride, and I’m going to show you how.”  
  
“I knew you could be reasonable,” the ungrateful sod said with a smirk, already shooing Ron to the side with impatient, imperious gesture of his hand. “Do kindly move. It appears I have to be sitting on this side. Now, what do I press?”  
  
“Nothing!” Ron barked nervously. “Don’t you go pressing anything before I tell you what it is and what it does.”  
  
What followed could have been one of those soundless, black-and-white movies where everything moved at abnormal speed, which Ron used to thoroughly enjoy watching on TV-lision with Harry. Only, it wasn’t half as funny when one was stuck in a moving car with a raving mad wizard who obviously tried to kill them both – and  _couldn’t bloody listen to any damn directions to literally save his own life!_  The redhead got a taste of what was coming before they even left the driveway. Clearly unable to comprehend Ron’s  _very clear_  instructions, the blond fool managed to drive forward rather than in reverse, knocking the wall of the grumpy Mrs. Johnson, Ron’s next-door neighbour, flat down. Well – truth be spoken – it could  _barely_  be referred to as ‘Mrs. Johnson’s wall’ since Ron’s had it up and, er, down about a dozen times already… In all honesty, the wall that the clumsy blond git knocked down might as well have been called Ron’s wall –  _‘of defeat’_  as Hermione used to add sarcastically. But that regrettable incident was just the beginning.  
  
It soon became clear that the skinny twat also couldn’t tell left from right – quite literally – as Ron found himself shouting on more than one occasion: “Turn left here…  _left, I said, left!! No, the other left, you fool!!”_. Among other calamities, the evil bastard apparently had yet to find any appreciation for Muggle life as he nearly knocked over an old lady on a bicycle – and to top it all, the unfortunate prat had an uncanny propensity to get the gas pedal stuck on every narrow and winding road, which resulted in Ron clutching at the edge of his seat feverishly, double-checking his seat-belt every two seconds, and trying to fight back motion sickness for long enough to shout expletives and desperate pleas at the idiot behind the wheel to slow down as they both had living children to consider.  
  
In the end, when Malfoy headed at full speed towards the ragged, rocky coastline, abruptly disappearing into the sea, Ron capitulated and promptly resorted to using magic to stop the car, or the lunatic would have driven them straight off the cliff. As soon as the vehicle came to a halt, the redhead snatched the keys out of the ignition and wiped the sweat off his forehead with the back of his trembling hand.  
  
“ _MotherfuckingGod_ … and his dog!” he barked, trying to catch his breath if only to get assurance that it was still hiding somewhere in his lungs, and he was miraculously still alive. “What the hell was that, you mad wanker?! Were you trying to off me, then?! Is that it?! Trying to make it look like an accident, were you? Except no one would believe such a barmy plot! I’m an  _excellent_  driver, I’ll have you know!”  
  
“We nearly drove over that Muggle at the bottom of the hill,” the blond git said, and to his credit, his complexion  _did_  look sheet-white, even a tad more than usual. “I might have… panicked a little after that.”  
  
“ _We?!_  There’s no  _we_  in it, you tosser!  _You_  nearly drove over a Muggle – and not just any Muggle, but a helpless old lady! We could have had a dead Muggle hag on our hands!”  
  
“Well, you’re the instructor, aren’t you?!” the bloody fart barked, quickly resorting back to his legendary arrogance. “It would have been your fault!”  
  
“I’m no goddamn instructor!!” Ron howled hard enough to startle the seagulls. “You showed up on my driveway with some hidden, belated agenda to get rid of me and  _demanded_  to be shown how to drive. I…”  
  
“You never said  _no_ , did you?!” the haughty snot hissed. “You accepted!  _‘Hop in’_ you said! It would have been your fault as well as mine!”  
  
“I never…” Ron started, but then realised the madman might have had a point. So he just let his head hit the dashboard instead, and he exhaled quietly. “Why do you always have to use people… use me?” he groaned at last, and opened the door to get away from the blond plague.  
  
Without a straight thought in his head, he walked to the edge of the cliff and sat down, with his feet dangling above the void. Malfoy was right, of course. He was the stupid one. He shouldn’t have let his boredom get the better of him. It was just that… life was so damn…  _plain_  since Rose and Hugo had left for Hogwarts, and then there was this thing with Hermione…  
  
“Weasley? Are you getting back into the car?”  
  
“Not with you in it, I’m not,” Ron mumbled. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into this. It’s not like there was anything in it for me, and I still did it. I might actually be as stupid as you think me.”  
  
“Do you want me to pay you, then?” Malfoy inquired flatly, and surprised Ron by popping his arse down next to him.  
  
“No! What?! It’s not… no! Just no, you idiot. I don't want your bloody money! In case you’ve been living under a rock for the last twenty years, I’m rolling in it as of late... the business is booming at the shop. But some courtesy on your part would have been nice!”  
  
“Just what did you have in mind?” the blond demon smirked, and Ron was shocked to discover how a smile, even an insolent one, softened his features and made his grey eyes sparkle. Like it or not, he grudgingly had to admit the years had been kind to the evil git. Sure, he had an extra wrinkle or two around the eyes, almost as if he smiled more these days, but the rest of him was pretty much intact. The redhead groaned internally, mentally berating himself for allowing his thoughts to stray in such an odd direction. He needed to get away from the blond viper.  
  
“You’re supposed to be the smart one; think of something,” he mumbled and got up, because if sitting too close to Malfoy resulted in him thinking the Slytherin smelled  _nice_  there had to be something wrong with that scene, even if he couldn’t quite tell what yet. He looked across the void stretching from the edge of the cliff to the darkening sea below, and he noticed the sun slowly setting behind the horizon. They should really go back. In spite of him boasting about his excellent driving skills, he loathed driving in the dark, and the last thing he needed was an accident to end this disastrous day.  
  
“Malfoy – ” he turned around to inform the blond that they should slowly get going, but stopped abruptly when his eyes met the most curious look in the grey orbs. He knew that look. He knew it well. He’d  _given_  that look himself, plenty of times.  
  
“Were you checking out my arse?!” he asked incredulously, only to have the Slytherin roll his eyes and get up hastily.  
  
“Most certainly not!” the blond barked curtly, a little too focused on cleaning the dust from his trousers almost as if he was trying to divert attention… yet not sounding quite as indignant as an innocent man would.  
  
“I was admiring the view if you really must know,” he said finally, his eyes still not meeting Ron’s. “Your… rare end… shapely as it is… just happened to be in it.”  
  
“You  _were_  checking out my arse!”  
  
“For Merlin’s sake, Weasley… How about some attention?”  
  
“Huh?!” Ron had no idea what the skinny troll was suddenly on about.  
  
“How about I give you some attention in a way of a payment for agreeing to our little adventure?” Draco Malfoy finally met his eyes, and what Ron saw in them… kind of… temporarily… took his breath away. No one’s ever looked at him that way. With dark, rich intensity, as if all of Draco Malfoy’s interest was entirely on him.  
  
“The word is,” Malfoy continued calmly, “that you’re not rolling in that. Your kids are at Hogwarts, as my son is, and that wife of yours… don’t get me wrong, she makes a fine Minister, but I believe the word the Prophet used in this morning’s edition was  _“estranged”_. So how about I treat you to a nice, lazy, men’s night out with the best liquor of your choice galleons can buy? That, and perhaps a delicious meal. You’ve always liked that, and I happen to have access to some of the most exclusive restaurants in England, wizarding and Muggle alike. Just say the word.”  
  
“Insane,” Ron whispered. “You’re insane. Why would I want to go out with you?”  
  
But Malfoy was suddenly near him… and that aftershave must have really been pure magic… because miraculously, the idea of hanging out with the blond menace – a  _very_  good looking blond menace – didn’t seem  _quite_  so appalling anymore. Ron’s head felt strangely light, almost giddy, and he had a passing thought that perhaps he’d been poisoned….  
  
“What happened to you and your wife anyway?” the blond asked gently, and Ron found out he didn’t have it in him to lie – not after the near-death experience they’d been through, and not to Malfoy, who already didn’t think much of him.  
  
“You read it right,” he said quietly and forced himself to shrug. “Estranged. She works all the time.”  
  
“The Prophet mentioned an unpleasant surprise…”  
  
“You shouldn't believe everything you read, Malfoy,” the redhead groaned, uncommonly irritated. “Neville visited over the weekend and we were all supposed to meet... Only, she was late again, wasn’t she, so we got sloshed waiting for her, and Neville got a little loud and goofy – as he does when he’s three sheets into the wind. So, at one point he hugged me and hollered –  _“Want me to kiss you, you poor thing, cruelly abandoned by your wife?”_  – in front of the whole damn pub, yeah? Nothing secret – or romantic, god forbid – he’s just a truly terrible drunk. But of course, Hermione chose that exact moment to finally join us, and because Skeeter follows her like a shadow, that’s what she caught: Neville slobbering all over me, and me trying to fend him off with a coaster. He’s apologised a million times over since… and it’s not like Hermione doesn’t believe me, yeah? It’s just that... she’s the Minister now, you know? She can’t have that… the scandal, the embarrassing husband. I mean, she had to  _Confund_  Skeeter into writing that half-baked story. So, yeah… things need to cool off. She'll come back to me. I mean... she might... eventually…”  
  
“Do you always have to just sit around and wait?!”  
  
The vicious hiss was so unexpected, Ron practically stumbled backwards.  
  
“What are you on about?” he blurted out angrily, but for once, his temper was not a match for Malfoy’s wrath that appeared surprisingly genuine.  
  
“What I’m  _on_  about, Weasley, is that you’re  _always_  waiting for someone to bloody whistle and call you, aren’t you?! You’re always someone’s sidekick, someone’s shadow, so damn… unhappy yet so bloody ready to wait on those people – your wife, Potter, anyone calling themselves your friend – hand and foot if you must! Would you even notice if there was someone out there waiting for  _you_ … and no one but you? Would you?”  
  
“Just how insane are you, you deranged wanker?” the redhead barked, the anger and humiliation coiling in his chest like a nest of venomous vipers. “Who’d be waiting for  _me_?! There's no one! What kind of a fool would even want this?! Middle-aged, failed marriage...”  
  
The kiss came so unexpectedly, it knocked the wind out of Ron, and the sheer heat of their hungry, pent-up passion melted his brain into a sticky goo. He moaned helplessly into that pretty mouth, as Malfoy, the evil git, whispered:  
  
“I would. Always have. I came running as soon as I read it, didn’t I? I risked my life for you!”  
  
“I… you…”  
  
“Shut up, Weasley. Say yes.”  
  
Another kiss followed, no less magical and spell-binding as the one before.  
  
“Ohhhh…”  
  
Stealing his every breath with sweet, soft mouth, Malfoy was turning into everything Ron had always wanted.  
  
“How did you know… about me?” the redhead whispered, his mind a shiny blur.  
  
“I didn’t. I just… hoped,” Malfoy said simply, breaking Ron’s heart a little.  
  
“About that dinner…” the redhead finally panted into another pure delight of a kiss, and the blond grunted grudgingly.  
  
“Only you can think of food when I'm confessing my life-long affection, Weasley.”  
  
“Yes,” Ron breathed quietly. “To dinner… and that other thing… night out… with you. On one condition.”  
  
“As tempted I am to say  _"anything"_ , Weasley… I know in your case that really means any damn thing, so unless you’re more specific...”  
  
“It’s Ron now. And I’ll drive.”


End file.
